My first memory of Uncle Gerald is what a lovely time he and my Dad had, putting a bath room and an indoor toilet into our house in Hythe Road. They were out there in what had been the scullery for hours and hours every weekend and all we would hear would be laughter and chat. But they got the job done, and it was perfect. Magic! Kind and good fun just sums him up, I think.
In time, I came to realize that my uncle's life did have some tragic shadows, but he didn't dwell on those. If anyone asked him about the really tough times, he'd say "Ah, that's a long story", and that would be it. When he finally wrote that whole long story down, it ended with a new life - me, I was so honoured! - and his determination to live the best life he possibly could. And that he did.
He loved to joke, he worked hard, and I don't believe I ever heard him say a cross or an unkind word about anybody.
This tribute would not be complete without mentioning how much he meant to my Dad. They grew up in the Great Depression of the 1920s and 1930s, and knew real hardship, not to mention bereavements. We can barely imagine it now. But for Dad, there was always that cheery companion. Many years later, when a neighbour scolded my dad for letting some buttercups grow in his garden, she was sent away with a flea in her ear, because "They remind me of the field where I used to play with my brother, and I'm never going to dig them up." That's why I'm going to sing "All things bright and beautiful" with such pleasure at his funeral.
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